


Resume

by verymerrysioux



Series: Rewind [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: (sweats), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Original Character(s), Reincarnation, Self-Insert, no beta we die like men, this series is alive i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 23:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verymerrysioux/pseuds/verymerrysioux
Summary: There can be loopholes in any set of rules.The rules said to forget his name (and everything about himself). It didn't say anything about forgetting everything else. Canon wasn't about him, they only shared a name and nothing more.Loopholes exist and can be exploited.(But sometimes there's a price.)





	Resume

There’s a fog in his mind. Thick and heavy to the point that it weighs him down, pulls him away from awareness of the world outside his labyrinth.

He drifts, for that is the only thing he can do.

The fog is his only companion in this place for a long time. He remembers that the fog was never this thick before – in fact, he doesn’t think it was here when he first arrived.

He doesn’t know when the fog grew so big, filling up every nook and cranny of this labyrinth. He can’t see the walls or the floors, can’t make heads or tails of the corners or dead-ends unless he reaches out and gropes for a solid surface, he can’t even see his own hands and feet anymore -- the fog eager to cover everything and anything. Him included.

He just knows it wasn’t here before, because he remembers a time when he could see hallways and winding stairs and hundreds of closed doors.

Now all he sees is fog. White-black and buzzing, crackling with a noise that grates on his ears, feeling like a million ants crawling on his skin.

So he drifts. He doesn’t sleep, not really. He doesn’t think he can. Sleep is something living things do, and he remembers he’s not. He doesn’t remember a lot of things, but the few that he does stick to him like industrial superglue.

He doesn’t remember dying, but he does remember he’s dead. He doesn’t remember how he got here, but he does remember he’ll leave eventually.

He wonders how long it will take.

 

* * *

 

A sound enters his labyrinth. A chime, high and clear.

It’s loud, echoing clearly in the hallways. He sees the fog wither, shrinking in on itself. He can see a faint outline of the walls if he squints, blotches of faded colors from the symbols and pictures he knows are etched on them.

He walks to one of them, touching it, tracing the carved symbols. He knows some of them, whispers the few words he can discern. It’s slow, and he feels he should be embarrassed at how he says each syllable in a slow drawl, testing the words on his tongue.

He remembers a time that he could read all of these so effortlessly. Blurry visions of himself reading them in a quick pace, storing each word in his mind as efficiently as possible.

The chime ends, the fog comes back, and he sees no more.

He drifts, wondering if there will come a time when he can’t read the symbols at all.

There’s fear.

And a lot of resignation.

 

* * *

 

A second chime enters the labyrinth. A different pitch, but still loud and clear. Still sounding like metal against metal.

He blinks as his drifting is broken, hearing that sound again. He sees the fog tremble, closing in on itself.

The outline of the walls are a bit more prominent now. He can see the floor as well. Blurry, more like wisps and shadows, but it’s better than the constant white-black fog he saw.

He didn’t realize there were so many things on the floor. But he should have, it explained why he often tripped whenever he had the energy to try and explore.

Were they there before? He doesn’t remember them being there.

Then again, he doesn’t remember a lot of things.

The chime ends, the fog comes back, and he sees only a faint outline of the walls and floor.

 

* * *

 

A third chime appears. Another different pitch.

The fog trembles, and he can see his hands and feet again. They shift in form and color, as if his own self is unsure on what to look like. He remembers he was human, and that’s all.

He hopes he doesn’t see his reflection anytime soon.

The chime ends, the fog comes back, and he realizes that he can see the hallways.

Interesting.

 

* * *

 

And a fourth chime appears.

And a fifth.

And a sixth.

And it goes on and on.

They enter the labyrinth, filling the hallways with music and chasing away the fog. He finds it easier to think, easier to remember things, easier to  _ recall  _ things.

A new chime appears again.

He hums, repeating the note it makes. Remembering it, storing the new note in the mental sheet he has.

He hums the whole song so far, making sure he can still remember the notes with perfect clarity.

He does.

 

* * *

 

The final chime comes.

He knows it’s the last, feels it deep in his soul, this is the last note to complete the song.

The chime is the clearest and loudest he’s ever heard. The sound so powerful even he steps back from the sheer force of it. The fog is blown away completely, its grating noise and itchy sensation gone.

Light follows the chime, bright and warm and something he feels he should know but doesn’t, and so the sensation of its warmth is met with surprised wonder. The hallways are still gray and faded, but they look less cold and empty.

He can see the items on the floor now, free of the fog and clear as day. There are books and toys scattered everywhere. Some intact, many broken, and before he can wonder why they’re here, something tugs on his jacket (when did he wear a jacket?) and he is pulled.

Away from the hallways and the broken things and he hears the click of something and then—

He’s in a room, sitting on a desk. He blinks and looks at the desk, there are notebooks stacked on one side and pieces of paper scattered everywhere. There are a few card games that he doesn’t recognize. There’s a clock that blinks the time, it’s twelve o’ clock.

He looks to the side, there’s a window that shows the inky sky, a few stars twinkling here and there. It’s cloudy tonight.

He looks down at his hands, he’s holding a  pȇ͈͎̺͚̮̬̞̤̿̍͌͋̃͛n̡͙̰͈̤͖̭͈̆͌̂͌̋͆͑͞d̴̨̦̥̫͓̲̼̟̹͎̾̓͌̓́̽̑̒a̧̪̝̱͚̠̬͌͑͋̎̂̈̆͡n̛͉̣͙͈̥͓͑͑̚͝t̡̨̡͍͈̲̺͛͒̌̎̑͡ .Puzzle. Pyramid-shaped, golden, and shiny enough that he can see his reflection.

Is this how he looks like?

And with that thought, a tsunami crashes into his mind, pushing into the empty hallways and making a bigger mess. Nestling into the gaps and holes that grew overtime, filling them up. Faces, places, things. Scents, sounds, tastes.

Knowledge and thoughts.

Memories.

Ones that are new. Ones that are – and he realizes this after catching his breath – not his.

They can’t be his (they shouldn’t be his).

They conflict with the (broken) memories he has. It’s jarring and confusing, and so very messy.

He is Yugi Mu—he is not, he is Ą̸̫̼̱͚̬̌͗͛̐͋͛͘̚t̨̼̞̟̖͎̎͂̒̂̇e͙̪̙̖̘̝̫̰͆̐́̂̋́̕͜͟m̸̢̨̥̞̥͚̬̞̓̋͒̅͗̅̑̃ . He doesn’t know, but it’s not Yugi.

He is a high school student—he is not, he  h̷̳̠̠̥͓̊͐̈͆̐̃̑̚͞ͅạ͎̭̤̟̰͖̍̓̔̚͠ͅs̵̹͖̠͔̘̪͚̥̃̔̌͑̈̚̕͟͞ň̰̹̬̘͉̪̑̉͆͊̊͆̓'̛̯̝̳͓̩̳̝̲̊̉̋̍̓̾͒͐t̘̭͖̙̞́̀̐̐̌́ b͙̖̜͚͔͈̪̅̇͂̓͗̚͟͝e̸̢̨̡̛̦̟̹͙̜͖̩͂̂̔̌̽̊͌̓ë̻͎̹͓͌̾͘͘͝͡ͅn̸͚̺̭̝͈͈͆͛̉̒̏̾̓̇͒̇ i̢̧̺̦̦̮̲͕̾͐̐̿̀̂̿̽͊͟n͓̣̱͕̠̤̫͉̽͆̒̎̊̐̕͠ h̡̛̥͉͚͎̙̖͖͍̔́̈́͜͡͡i̛̱̙͙͓̰̩̍̔͆̂̓g̶̺̰͓̥̭͈̩͕͉͖͋͆͋̇͞ḣ̢̥͉̭̽̒͋̐̒͘͟͠͞ s̢̭̮̯̮͍̆͊̋̿̅̐̏̽͟͡ͅc̶̨̨̠̺͎̦̩̣̖̋͂̓̉̅̕ḧ̴̛͈̖͓̤̰́͊̕͘o̭̩̰̱͇̳̘̐͊̆̚̚͟ơ̡̰̩̮̦̱͈̬̬̩̔̅̎̿͊͐͊̀l̶̪͕̹̤̩͖͊̿̊͗̆̕ f̷̛̻̪̮̘͖͛̽́̽̈́͋͒̈́ǭ̷̡̡͎͖͗͌̾̇̎̈͟r̗̪̮̠͚̪̦̼̫̾͋̾̐͋̚̕ a̢̘͓̥͗̂̌͗̐̑̊͘͜͞ ḽ̘̫̳̲̑̽̈̔̈͂͞͞ŏ̷̯̮͍̩͕̆̄̑͌n̶̨̢͖̦̝̬͈̪̆̽͋́͆̊̕͡g̷̡̪̭̟͚̹͎͓̉̉̌̾̒̃̾͢ ṭ̪̞͉̻̃͒̔͗̌͘̚ͅĩ̱̼̻͖̺̭̝͌̈̓̆͘ṁ̸̧̺̥̤̙̩̩̒̇͝͠e̶̢̻̜̦̰̒̇̑̋͂̆̇̕͡.̷͚̰̻̦̮͂́͊̕̚͠

He is alive and—oh, definitely not.

The memories crash into each other. Some push, others pull, and many more break into pieces and collide into other memories in the process. Trying to find a place to belong, trying to intertwine in his fraying consciousness, trying to make sense of  _ everything. _

His head hurts, he wants this to stop.

The memories don’t care.

In the chaos, the song of chimes play, accompanied by a soft voice.

_ Do you _

This morning, he greets Anzu and they walk to school together—The first chapter shows Yugi greet Anzu at the school gates, they walk home together.

His classmates invite him to play basketball, he refuses. Nobody would like him in their team—Untrue.

Maybe if he solves the Puzzle, he can have friends—It was never needed.

_ remember _

Jounouchi takes his Puzzle and doesn’t give it back, taunts him into trying to fight for it. He refuses, he hates violence. He doesn’t want to hurt people the way some have hurt him—Jounouchi will be one of Yugi’s closest friends, he’d rather die than hurt him (he almost did).

_ your _

His grandpa gave the Puzzle to him when he was eight, telling him it would grant him a wish if he solves it—He’s still not sure what kind of lifestyle did a young Sugoroku Mutou had to go to a death-trap tomb for the sake of the “ultimate game”. He was glad  ḩ̷̖̪͈̬̍̂̌̂͒̚͘ͅę̸̨̧̹͓̣̣̣̒̄̊̊̔̚͡ someone saved him from falling to his death.

_ favorite _

People can be horrible sometimes—He had hoped the manga and anime were exaggerating on the cruelty of practically  _ everyone _ in their school. Why?  _ Why? _

(he’s beginning to understand the vengeful path his canon self had, he was angry too – nobody deserves the crap Yugi has had to endure)

_ show? _

He drops the Puzzle and grips his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

The papers and notebooks scatter, some fall off the desk.

The night is still cloudy.

The clock ticks, it’s now twelve o’ one.


End file.
